


Witty Girls

by WordsWordsWords



Series: Never Held A Gun [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I JUST AM SUPER HYPER RIGHT NOW, I'm Sorry, M/M, Wow, and also, pilgrim--soul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsWordsWords/pseuds/WordsWordsWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac schemes, Combeferre likes Cookies, and Enjolras is absolutely capable of having fun. No really. He’ll prove it. (It’s entirely possible that Combeferre needs new friends)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Witty Girls

Probably against her better judgement, Eponine likes Montparnasse. No, actually, definitely against her better judgment.

Montparnasse is not a good guy. He is both capable of great kindness, and great cruelty. And cruelty pays well. Still, Eponine has a soft spot for him. They grew up together. He used to steal her textbooks and school supplies. Really, if Eponine had to put her getting into college down to one person,  it’d be Montparnasse.  
Then Marius.  
But first Montparnasse. 

And she loves him. Because she loves easily, and because he was kind to her. But she doesn’t pretend that this means he is a good person.   
Montparnasse is a brother to her. They look after each other. They are good to each other.   
But Eponine knows: they are not good.   
Montparnasse will smile while he slits your throat.  
 **  
**

Cosette, though. Cosette with her beautiful blonde hair and her easy smiles, and the way that she buy all the groceries and shares her clothes and has never ever, even once, judged Eponine. Cosette is good.  
These are just facts.

And yet, none of this explains their behavior lately. The two come from completely separate worlds. Eponine wasn’t even aware that they knew each other at all. 

The last couple of weeks had been strange. Cosette has been … strange: taking phone calls into the hall, being secretive, acting avoidant.   
Just yesterday, she told Eponine that she was going out with Marius, but Eponine caught a glance of her coming back through their window and it was Montparnasse.   
She’d hugged Montparnasse. You don’t hug Montparnasse. The last time someone hugged Montparnasse, he’d broken their nose.   
(He just doesn’t like people’s hands behind his back. And yes. he’s touchy about it)   
Still, Cosette had hugged Montparnasse, and Montparnasse had smiled his slow predatory smile.   
Eponine, who loves Cosette, who also loves Marius, who had very slowly grown to love Marius and Cosette together nearly cried.   
The idea of Cosette cheating on Marius makes her sick.   
The idea of Cosette cheating on Marius with Montparnasse is so out of left field that Eponine can’t even fathom it.

It’s hard to believe. Cosette still can’t say Marius’s name without a smile, and even if they weren’t sickeningly in love, it’s not in Cosette’s nature to cheat. It’s hard to believe. Eponine doesn’t want to believe it.   
 _Worst birthday ever._

This is how she finds herself pacing in front of grantaire’s apartment (16C Rue Plumet), trying to determine whether or not to tell anyone.

She’s not going to tell Marius until she is sure. But, she’s not going to sit by and do nothing. She’s not even certain she’s capable of sitting by and doing nothing.

“Eponine?” It’s Combeferre. He’s leaning nonchalantly against the apartment doorway in what, on him, is considered practically pajamas. He’s wearing fitted dark jeans, and a grey henley. The light of his cigarette reflects of the lenses of his glasses and it’s so disconcerting and so not what she expected that Eponine just blurts out

“You smoke?!”

Combeferre smiles, a small half smile that reveals nothing and says   **  
**

“Ah yes. You caught me.”

“But.” Eponine tries to wrap her head around it “You’re pre-med!”   
It’s not that. That’s not what makes it so hard for Eponine to grasp. Smoking itself isn’t shocking. It’s just, sometimes she forgets that Combeferre and Enjolras, and even Courfeyrac though he is warmer, are even really human.

It’s like they are forces of nature.

Enjolras is the movement of tectonic plates. Literally shifting the ground that you walk on. He’s passion is in everything he does, and his movements are sometimes slow but mostly he’s a festering anger that breaks through the very foundations of the ground like volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. Enjolras would destroy cities to restore order to the ground. He’d do it gladly.

Courfeyrac is like a forest fire. Loud, unignorable, and unstoppable. He burns warm and bright, but still he burns. Warm yet destructive. Forest fires are good for the forest. Forest fires are still  _fires_.  

Combeferre is something different. If Enjolras is the ground, then Combeferre is the ocean. He is the shifting of the tide. Steady, constant, silent and powerful. Combeferre is deadly competence. He would outlast a forest fire, a hurricane and even the shifting of the earth. He’s slow and steady and creeping and completely destructive.  
And he’s leaning against the door smoking a cigarette.

“I’ve been trying to quit” He ashes it “it’s proved surprisingly difficult.”

Eponine laughs.  

“Addiction is like that.” She walk towards him, then. Standing under the overcropping, but leaning back casually. “Honestly, I’m shocked that Enjolras let’s you get away with this.”

“I hardly need Enjolras’s permission to buy a packet of coffin nails” Eponine just arches an eyebrow. Combeferre quickly concedes “He refuses to let me do it in the house, and any time I leave a pack somewhere that he sees he splits them open, soaks them and throws them in the trash.” He smile widens slightly, impossibly fond of something that sounds so annoying. “Courfeyrac tackles me whenever he catches me with one.”

Eponine laughs outright at that image. Combeferre is good company. It’s weird, she realizes. They’ve never really hung out. She always preferred the company of Grantaire, Bahorel and Feuilly. If Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the holy trinity, then Grantaire, Bahorel and Feuilly were the unholy trinity of unmitigated chaos. Eponine preferred their shadows and scars.

Or rather, she understood their shadows and scars better than she did this boy. This boy with his impious grin, and his dark rimmed glasses and his glowing cigarette.

She thinks maybe, just maybe, she hasn’t been paying enough attention to Combeferre.

—

She’s staring at him in a sort of assessing way, and Combeferre (who does not fidget thank you very much) is disquieted. He snuffs out his cigarette, and holds the look.

“So…” he starts, “Were you stopping by our apartment for any reason? Do you need something?”

She startled when he speaks. He gets the strangest notion that she had been too deep in thought to realize she had been staring at him.

“Oh yeah! I mean, no! I mean, is Grantaire home?”

Combeferre arks an eyebrow.

“Well, seeing as he lives alone across from us, and not actually with us, I have no idea”

“Riiighht.” She physically shakes herself “I’m just going to go over there then.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

She walks about halfway to the door, before Combeferre stops her.   


“Eponine?”  


“Yeah?”  


“You do know, that if you need anything, if you want anything… all you have to do is ask.”  


And Eponine half turns, and smiles brilliantly, and for a second Combeferre thinks  _I have never seen this girl before._

“I know.” And with that, she ducks into Grantaire’s apartment.

Combeferre considers a second cigarette. He’s hand is halfway to his pocket before the door is being practically pulled off it’s hinges.

“HA! CAUGHT YOU!” and then he is tackled to the floor.

He shoves Courfeyrac off, not bothering to point out that he wasn’t actually smoking at that exact moment.

 **“** I need better friends” He distinctly mutters, before allowing Courfeyrac to haul him back onto his feet. Courfeyrac begins to ramble, wide grin and eyes slightly manic in the way that tells Combeferre that Courfeyrac is up to no good.   


“Come in! I made cookies, and I proofed your essay. For you. Because I’m a great friend.” Combeferre arches an eyebrow. “They’re those florentine monstrosities you like.”   
Combeferre gaze does not waver. Courfeyrac shifts awkwardly. **  
**

“Did I mention how good you look today? Casual chic totally works for you?”

“Courfeyrac.”  


“Yes, oh roommate of mine who I love deeply?”  


“What do you want?”

Courfeyrac has the gall to look affronted.   


“I want nothing! Can I not just be nice for one moment? I ask for nothing from you but the pleasure of your company.”  


“Okay. Then, what did you do?  


“‘Combeferre, do you truly think so low of me?”  


“Yes.” Courfeyrac playfully shoves him.   


“Just, come eat cookies.”

Combeferre thinks _I need better friends_ , but follows Courfeyrac into the apartment.

When they get to the kitchen, Courfeyrac fiddles awkwardly with the dishes. Combeferre sits at the kitchen table.  He idly puts a cookie in his mouth, because Courfeyrac is a ball of restless energy and Combeferre knows better than to try and force him to say what’s on his mind.   
 _Oh christ on a cracker, these cookies are better than sin._

“Hey ‘ferre?”

“mmm?” He manages to stuff another in his mouth before Courfeyrac turns around.

“If I’m, hypothetically, trying to coerce or rather uh… convince Enjolras to go out with us. Tonight. Could I count on you to go?”

“Why would my presence affect your ability to convince Enjolras?”

Courfeyrac gets a look on his face that can be only be translated to  _seriously, bro?_ Combeferre takes another cookie.

“Just. Look. Will you come out with us tonight?”

Combeferre thinks. He has a proposal due monday at 5, but he’s already compiled his research. It could easily be completed on saturday. There is time to go out tonight. He looks over Courfeyrac, who’s a livewire of nervous energy.

“What are you planning?”

“I’m not! I’m not planning anything. I just— we all deserve a night of fun and it’s Eponine’s birthday and I kissed Jehan and our relationship is so new and I may or may not be freaking out about everything in my life and I just want to go out and have fun and you and Mr. Killer-stick-up-his-ass are somehow my best friends, which makes  _no sense_ because you guys are  _no fun_  but come oonnnn, let’s party!

Combeferre, with his usual aplomb, straightens his glasses and responses.

“You kissed Jehan?”

Courfeyrac practically shrieks and collapses bodily into a chair.   


“I KISSED JEHAN!”   


“Is it at all possible that you had meant to keep that a secret?”  


“It is very possible, ‘Ferre.”  
Combeferre does the only logical thing at that moment. He slides the cookie plate over.  


“Cookie?”

Courfeyrac doesn’t shove two in his face immediately, but it’s not for lack of trying.   


“I’ll come out tonight.”

Courfeyrac turns these big brown hopeful eyes towards him “Promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Excellent!” Courfeyrac jumps out of his seat, smile blinding. His entire saddened and confused demeanor gone. Combeferre gets the strangest feeling he was being duped. “I told Cosette I could get everyone on board! BOW TO ME! MIGHTY MAKER OF PARTIES!  **BEST NIGHT EVER** ”

He’s still cackling as he runs to the back room, frantically collecting bags and putting on, what appears from Combeferre angle, to be a green tank top that has the words ‘Tequilla Mockingbird’ in yellow print.   
Combeferre serenely eats another cookie and resolves to kill Courfeyrac.   
… after he gets this recipe. God, these are good cookies.   
  
“What are the chances that we get E to wear those black leather-esque pants I gave him?” Courfeyrac calls from his room.

“Does he have other clean pants?”

“…yes?”

“Then zero.”

Courfeyrac cackles.

Combeferre thinks  _I reaallly need better friends_ and then he begins to re-read his essay. Courfeyrac had left comments after all, and only one of them was ‘Your boner for french history is showing’ and Combeferre can concede that one. Perhaps the Robespierre quote in a chemistry lab was excessive.

Courfeyrac runs by wearing a couple of boas and what looks like a fuzzy purple tiara, with a couple of shopping bags stuffed to the brim, He drops on bag at the door and heads out with a hurried “I’ll be right back!” tossed over his shoulder.

He returns five minutes later, still wearing the boas and the tiara, with a shit-eating grin and sinks into the chair.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow (yes, this is how a lot of how his interactions with people go) but before he can say anything, Courfeyrac’s phone buzzes on the table.

“Oh excellent! pre-game at Grantaire’s.”

There is a lull in conversation as Courfeyrac composes a reply, then apparently texts everyone he knows. Combeferre finishes up his essay, and takes another cookie.

There were many anticipated benefits to living with Courfeyrac and Enjolras. The baking was a pleasant surprise. 

They are still sitting at the table when Enjolras returns.

Enjolras tutors high-needs middle schoolers on fridays, which he always follows with a two mile run. Enjolras says that the running helps him appropriately reflect on the day. Courfeyrac argues that it’s to burn the frustration of dealing with the Middle Schoolers. According to Courfeyrac, Middle Schoolers are little shits. (Courfeyrac also works with Middle Schoolers, and he loves each and every student he’s ever had).

Enjolras walks into the kitchen to grab some dinner. Courfeyrac yells after him.   


“Hey!  Me, ‘Ferre and actually everyone you know are going to a club tonight. Do you want to come?”  


Enjolras sticks his head out of the kitchen.   


“You’re both going?”

Courfeyrac nods, and Combeferre shrugs.   


“Alright. Let me just finish this up and shower.”

His phone buzzes and while he is reading and replying to the text, Courfeyrac shoots Combeferre a victorious look.   


“Okay. Well, We’re going to head over to Grantaire’s apartment. You shower. You shower in that shower. Enjoy that shower.”  


Enjolras, to his credit, is not even a little put off about Courfeyrac apparent enthusiasm for showering. Courfeyrac grabs one his backpack from besides the door and the two walk out of the apartment.   
Literally within a second of the door closing, Combeferre hisses.   


“What did you do?”

Courfeyrac just grins, and waves him off reading a text from his phone.    


“nothing! I didn’t— okay, I’m lying but don’t worry about it. also: I told you he’d agree if we were both going. Enjolras is a total sucker for friendship and the american way.” Courfeyrac smiles down at his phone and starts typing a response to Jehan.   


“I need better friends” Combeferre says. Again. It’s sort of a running motto for him.  Courfeyrac smiles easily and ignores him.

Still, Combeferre was mildly shocked at how easily Enjolras conceded, decides to test his power over his roommate and best friend. He knew that Enjolras valued his opinions on the big things, but he had always considered Enjolras resolute in his schedules.  On impulse, he decides to test the extent of his influence on his best friend.

 **C → E:**  Hey. Don’t eat the cookies on the table. They taste funny.  
 **E → C:**   Okay. Good to know.

Combeferre doesn’t at all smile at this. It was a test in Enjolras’s faith. It has nothing at all to do with wanting the cookies to himself. Nothing at all. And if you say differently, He’ll delete your student records.

They walk into Grantaire’s apartment without further drama. This is something of a record for them.

There a empty bottles lining the bookshelves and the floor. The coffee table is full of intricate doodles. The sounds of glasses clinking onto a counter floats out of the kitchen, and somehow there is a large splotch of green paint on one of the fan blades.

Combeferre takes this all in and thinks  _I really need better friends._

Eponine is stretched out, languid on the couch. Her eyes are closed and her feet dangle over one of the ends, she appears deep in thought. Combeferre thinks for one second: _I want to spend forever in the bend of you clavicle._  Then:  _Ours is a strange relationship. why do I not know you?_    He reaches up to adjust his glasses.

“HONEY I’M HOME!” Courfeyrac calls to the kitchen.

  
Grantaire walks out of the kitchen, shoeless and in no apparent rush. He nods in greeting to Combeferre, and chucks a pillow at Courfeyrac.

“You don’t live here.”

Eponine, from her position on the couch, mutters “thank god.”   


“I’m going to let that go because I happen to really like my apartment and you scare me a little.” Eponine opened her eyes, and smiled slightly. Not for the first time, Combeferre envied the ease at which Courfeyrac understood and conversed with people. Courfeyrac can always make a person smile. Combeferre will fix your problems and talk rationally about solutions. Courfeyrac will listen to you rant and give you cookies. (Combeferre is a little fixated on the cookies). “Also, here. Put this on.”   


He thrust the bag at Eponine. Eponine nods distractedly, grabs the bag and heads to the bathroom. Something is obviously weighing heavily on her mind.    


“What are you planning, Courf?” Grantaire asks, as soon as Eponine leaves the room. Combeferre wonders how many of Courf’s schemes would be foiled if people bothered to question them before the victim walked out of the room.   


“Nothing! I just facilitated the plan and made it awesome. Don’t blame me. Blame Cosette!”   


“Oh no. I blame you.”

Courfeyrac pouts for all of 2 seconds. It would be longer but  at that moment Marius, Cosette, and apparently every single one of Les Amis shows up. Combeferre wishes he got this kind of attendance at meetings.

  
Everyone begins mingling. Grantaire alternates between snagging peoples phones and handing them shots. Joly, Marius and Cosette are talking on a couch. Feuilly and Musichette are in the kitchen, handing out Grantaire’s alcohol like they are Oprah. Bahorel has a bottle of wine in his right and a beer in his left, which would be more concerning except as Combeferre watches he hands the beer to Bossuet. Courfeyrac is jumping from conversation to conversation, but always shooting glances at Jehan. Jehan is blushing.   
It seems that everyone is in on the plan but Combeferre. That, or they are not at all bothered by not knowing. Combeferre, frustrated, corners Cosette.

“It’s Ep’s birthday! I got this to get us a couple of tables at that club she’s been talking about. Y’know, the one her friend works at. Anyway! We are taking her clubbing! It’s going to be fabulous!!”

The room cheers a little in response. Even Grantaire raises a glass. It is, as yet, unclear if it was meant with irony or not. Combeferre briefly wonders why no one ever comes to him with the happy news. Sure, he knew about the fact that Bahorel was withdrawing from another class, but no one tells him it’s Eponine’s birthday.

From the bathroom, Eponine calls out.   


“Courfeyrac! Why do you have a sash that says ‘Baddest Bitch’ on it?”  


“Cause I’m a bad bitch baby!”

Eponine comes out of the bathroom, holding the sash and a tiara in her hand. She’s wearing skinny black jeans, black mary jane heels and a deep blue corset top. Combeferre suddenly realizes how hot the room is. It’s the extra body heat, he reasons, from the increase of people in the room.

Musichetta wolf whistles. Jehan calls her a princess. Marius calls her beautiful. Combeferre adjusts his glasses.

Eponine blushes lightly at the complements between putting the Sash on. Courfeyrac is arranging the Tiara on her head. 

“Not that I object to a random get together of all of my favorite people. But what is this for.”

In a rare moment of unity, and most probably due to Cosette’s not even a little subtle conduction, everyone yells

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY” The endings for everyone is different, Combeferre says ‘Eponine’, Grantaire says ‘You crazy bitch.’ Really, there is a wide range.

Eponine smiles wide and delighted. But, Cosette is not done.

“I’ve been talking all week with your friend Montparnasse, and I got us a couple of table at Barcode! WE ARE GOING TO DANCE YOUR BIRTHDAY AWAY!”

Eponine looks strangely relieved at this, but the emotion quickly changes into overwhelming joy.

“THIS IS GOING TO BE SO AWESOME!”

The group quickly dissolves into chaos from there.     
Bahorel seems to have gotten his hand on a whole fifth of whiskey, and is pouring down peoples throats if they make the mistake of… well, making eye contact with him.   
Combeferre wisely retreats into the kitchen.

Eponine is sitting on the counter kicking her feet. Grantaire appears to be mixing amaretto liqueur and rum in a flask.  Courfeyrac is leaning casually against the counter, drinking an Angry Orchard. Jehan is to his left, smiling softly. Cosette is standing by the fridge, laughing slightly. When he walks in, Courfeyrac is half way through a sentence.   


“- it’s the cookies, you can convince anyone if you know the right cookie. And once I got Combeferre, Enjolras was easy. ”

Cosette laughs lightly at that. Combeferre would set the record straight, but he’s not 100% sure that he’s not in his entire friendship with Courfeyrac for the baking so he lets it slide.

“Speaking of, where is our esteemed president, I will kill him if he tries to skip out on my birthday party.” Eponine’s cheeks are lightly dusted with pink. Combeferre realizes he is the only remotely sober person in the whole room. God, he wishes Enjolras would hurry up with his shower.

“He just responded to a text, so he’ll probably be over in a matter of seconds.”

Combeferre wonders what why Grantaire, out of all of them, knows that. Courfeyrac laughs nervously. 

Eponine turns to him with one eyebrow raised. 

“Alright, what did you do?”   


“Nothing! Nothing! I just… made sure that he was dressed appropriately. I didn’t want him showing up to your birthday in jeans and a tee-shirt.”  


Grantaire says “hey!”  because he’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted green tee-shirt. It’s the outfit that Courfeyrac and Cosette had made him change into not even 2 minutes earlier. Courfeyrac raises his hand in a dismissive way.  


“Not in the good way, Grantaire. In a bad way.  Anyway, I’m going to go hi—”

There is a furious knocking on the door. This is ridiculous for two reasons. One, because Grantaire can never find his keys, so his apartment is literally never locked. Two, because Courfeyrac lets out a not at all manly shriek and runs out of the kitchen.   
This is not the smartest move, because it puts him back in the sitting room, and closer to the door. Not wanting to miss the show, Everyone but Grantaire follows Courfeyrac to the sitting room.

Bahorel opens the door, and a wet, shirtless, and furious Enjolras stands at the door. He’s in black pants that are so tight that they may have been painted on. His hair is matted to his forehead, and the pants ride low on his his waist. He’s clutching a red swath of fabric in his right hand.   
Essentially, he looks like something straight out of high-end porn. 

Combeferre is (perhaps unfortunately) 100 percent straight. He knows this. He tested this extensively. But even, he takes a moment to appreciate how attractive this image is. Grantaire wanders out of the kitchen, where he had stayed to fix himself a glass, staring down at the floor.

“Courfeyrac.” Enjolras essentially growls. Grantaire looks up. The glass slides from between his fingers and shatters on the floor. Interestingly, no one seems to notice. “Where are my clothes.”

It should be a question, but instead it’s a vaguely threatening statement.

“Hidden?” comes Courfeyrac’s tentative reply from where he is standing behind the couch.

Enjolras stalks over to the couch, brandishing the piece of red fabric in his hands.

“Return them to me.”

“After tonight.” Enjolras stares him down, but Courfeyrac hold his ground, if a little bit shakely.

Enjolras shakes the piece of red fabric furiously. Combeferre thinks maybe he should intervene.

“I am not wearing this, Courfeyrac. It’s ridiculous”

“It looks nice, Enjolras.” Eponine cuts in.

There is murmurs of assent from the rest of the group. Something about Eponine talking breaking them out of there shocked states. Musichette leans over and whispers something to Bousset, who starts laughing so hard he actually trips.

Enjolras, who Combeferre has never known to be anything less than 100% confident in anything, blanches and pulls the piece of red fabric on over his head.

It reveals itself to be another one of Courfeyrac’s ridiculous party tanks. It says ‘Vive La Dance’ in black helvetica print. Courfeyrac thinks it’s hilarious, Enjolras just looks mildly self-concious.

If you look closely, you can see the hint of blush beginning to form on his cheek, as though he’s just now realized he stormed over to Grantaire’s apartment shirtless. He glares murderously at Courfeyrac, who steps behind Jehan as if he can hid there.  

“I don’t see why I couldn’t wear something that I own, Courfeyrac. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself for a club in clothing not half as ridiculous.”

Grantaire, who seems to have recovered, and is picking shards of glass off the floor actually laughs out loud at that.   
Enjolras turns a fully formed glare on him. If the glare he gave Courfeyrac was murderous, the glare he now gave Grantaire could incinerate a man where he stands.

“Forgive me, oh great marble David. But your ability to have fun is only rivaled by — actually no. I don’t even have an adequately sarcastic metaphor to draw attention to your inability to let go for even five minutes.”  


Combeferre takes this opportunity to step away from Grantaire. Bahorel looks weirdly excited.

“But, if you are so disinclined towards fun, I offer up any item in my closet, since you find it so abhorrent to dress like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Combeferre expects a down dressing, or some sort of verbal rally. Instead, Enjolras looks stricken and confused. He looks at Courfeyrac’s outfit, and then Jehans. Slowly, he surveys the outfits of everyone in the room.

“I had not meant that, there is nothing wrong with this style of dress. Only that I haven’t found it to suit me.”

“You look nice, Enjolras.” Cosette says kindly, “Now, put on your fun cap for just one moment and let’s celebrate Eponine’s birthday.”

There is round chorus of ‘Happy birthday, Ep!’ or ‘To Eponine.’ 

Enjolras looks conflicted for but a moment more, before he strengthens into his typical harden resolve. He walks over to Eponine and says only: “For your birthday,” kisses her on the cheek and then he grabs a handle of vodka off the table and drinks.

The entire room cheers.

Grantaire looks at Enjolras quizzically, and Courfeyrac and Cosette exchange, not subtle at all, high fives.  

Combeferre thinks _I need better friends_  and smiles.  


End file.
